


Poetic License

by gardnerhill



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Шерлок Холмс | Sherlock Holmes (TV 2013)
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7572391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson is a better writer than most people take him to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetic License

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2016 July Watson's Woes Promptfest prompt #24, **“Nothing shocks me. I’m a scientist”** (from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom)--use this in the entry today, either at the beginning, end, or middle.

Drowning – very likely forced. We waited for Lestrade to bring the two covered stretchers over to us.

Holmes grinned, the light glinting off his spectacles, and rubbed his hands together. “I’m getting close, Watson. Moriarty has made a slip this time, I’m sure of it.”

I looked down at my bizarre flatmate. I had had to do a lot of creative writing to turn my scruffy, feckless and foulmouthed young companion into the tall dashing detective all of London supposed him to be. It had proved a useful ruse as absolutely no one mistook this brash ruffian for their hero, and he was able to continue his undercover work.

I am a doctor and have seen the ugliness that happens to the human body. “Be warned, Holmes. This can look and smell very bad. You may be shocked at what four days’ submersion in sea water in hot weather does to a corpse.”

“Nothing shocks me, I’m a scientist.” Holmes grinned up at me again.

The police set down their stretchers (many of the men with kerchiefs clapped to their noses and mouths with the other hand) and backed away with queasy expressions. I could smell the bodies from here and braced myself.

Holmes strode forward and lifted the canvas. “All right, let’s see…what…” Dead silence.

I stood a little behind, not without sympathy, and counted in my head. Three, two, one –

Holmes let go of the canvas flap and staggered to the cobblestone gutter, collapsing on his knees.

 _My friend bent down to examine the first of the bodies with his usual scientific detatchment,_ I mentally began writing over the unmistakeable sounds of vomiting, _his keen grey eyes missing nothing in their observation…_

“Not – Moriarty –” Holmes managed between retching sounds. “None of the…” Heave. “…signs of his victims.” Coughing on his hands and knees.

Despite the tragedy and horror of the thing, I could not prevent a fond smile as I watched my brilliant young friend. A horrifically shocked scientist. And yet, still he could deduce.


End file.
